Crossing the Distance
by Anne Camp aka Obi-quiet
Summary: 'I despise accidents. Much of my negativity relates to the fact that in most instances, I truly could have helped had I been there, but I never have been, and I never will be.' Why would the Man in the Moon revive Jack, turn him into a winter spirit destined to become a guardian and then abandon him? The question has a simple answer: he didn't.


I despise accidents. I will freely admit that I loathe deliberate acts that hurt or oppress more, but there will forever be something about watching horrible things happen to good, undeserving people and not being able to help that rips at my heart in a way nothing else can. Much of my negativity relates to the fact that in most instances, I truly could have helped had I _been_ there, but I never have been, and I never will be. Instead I can only observe the happenings on the world below from so very far away and mourn for what has already taken place.

Allow me to clarify: Light waves from the Earth will reach the moon in a little over one Earth second and then take one more to return; just under three seconds for a round trip. Those seconds, few though they may be, can and often do mean everything in a life-or-death situation.

My swift, unprepared magic cannot cross the distance in time, often arriving precious moments too late and too weakened by its travel over the gap between the planet and my home to be of any use. And while I have many pre-prepared spells ready and waiting, fate is fickle and seems to enjoy inventing more and more instances I cannot plan for or cannot counter quickly enough. I am handicapped by time, distance and my own limitations of power.

Thoughts and magic travel far more slowly than my moonlight and moonbeams and sound cannot traverse space. Essentially, I watch events in silence and only receive the thoughts and feelings associated with them several minutes later. By the time those thoughts and feelings (and dreams at night) reach me, I can only decipher the gist of them. Even now it remains a struggle to fully understand what I viewed, but before balloons were invented…well, the word 'difficult' barely scratches the surface. Add to that the interpretation necessary for each culture and language and it can become quite overwhelming. I wish it had not taken me so long to learn the languages of Earth, and I still do not know all of them, for not all the children of Earth have access to those marvelous vessels of rubber and string that my moonbeams have begun to bring back to me.

Back before balloons, to add onto the difficulty of interpretation, I often had to wait until thoughts reached the moon before I could even begin to build a spell that would touch the planet below. It came to be that I would work my fastest in those moments, creating spells on the spot when I could feel the boost given by belief start to strengthen my hasty, fragile work. It was also in those moments that events often ended horribly.

These circumstances have always caused me to wish that I could observe more area at a time as well, for I feel I miss far too much with the telescopes focusing on just one silent vicinity at any given moment. I do not have nearly enough time to watch everything, although I still try my hardest to do so to this day.

Perhaps the worst thought of all, knowing what I did of life in those days, was that in most situations—even those where my magic managed to reach the Earth in time—it seemed as if fate and cruel, capricious chance would always counter my intervention so easily. For from this distance even sending my moonbeams to chase away the darkness and evil is draining. Other actions, no matter how well prepared, are more so even to this day. All I could really manage to do back then consisted of providing light to chase away shadows, leftover fearlings, and nightmares. It is not something I regret in the slightest, but in those days I wanted—longed—to be more than a beacon of hope and love with my ruined vessel. Often my most potent magic could only offer comfort, moments of clarity that allowed for quick action, an urge to move or stay put, and inspiration to protect. Good things to be certain, strong things that often lead to the most amazing feats, but even those could not save everyone.

That is the reason I asked those who were strong enough, brave enough and caring enough for help. The beings that can understand, believe, recognize and accept who I am (and even more, how I communicate) are few and far between. Thankfully, those that I have found rarely disappoint and they all rose at my call to protect the beautiful, happy, innocence of the children because I cannot—no, will not be there myself.

For no matter how often I have thought of leaving my beloved _Moon Clipper_ in favor of the Earth (especially those instances when I watch the children that I have long considered my siblings suffer in pain and anguish), I recognize what it could cost.

Losing the advantage of seeing so much of Earth and its happenings would allow darkness to gain a foothold all too easily and too far out of our view. It could (and would) creep and slip through the cracks of our defenses and precautions, turn the natural fears of childhood into aching, terrifying horrors and leave nothing but despair, pain and apathy in their wake.

No, I cannot in good conscience leave. To allow the Nightmare King to roam free without supervision would be nigh unto handing the planet to him on a cushioned pillow. My vigilance is an advantage I refuse to sacrifice, no matter how it pains me to remain alone and away from so many of those things that bring me joy.

Still, in my opinion, there is no act harder to execute than a lack of action, not for a being like myself who sees and cares for so much. It makes my heart ache so painfully when evil acts occur and I can do next to nothing, no matter the reasons my brain procures for my remaining on the _Moon Clipper_.

Though I have come to understand that many humans say I rule the night, that I favor its darkness or wish to hide from the sun, my favorite time to study the world my ship now orbits has always been during the day. It doesn't happen often, but frequently enough for me to become familiar with the humans populating the planet below at their most active. I find such instances a treat as the good, kind acts humans do tend to be more visible when the light of the sun warms the soil of the blue, white and brown world below.

Why am I telling you this? Well, the tale I wish to impart happened before I had anything above the most rudimentary understanding (at best) of the cultures and lands I watched over and thus I still operated by what I could deduce from simple observation and those vague impressions that managed to find me.

It was one such day when I observed the settlements on what is now called America. As I did not understand the languages at the time (balloons had not been invented), I did not know then what the occupants of the world called each continent. I had watched over the recent decades as many people from the highly populated areas of the larger continent now called Europe had followed dreams and hopes to an untamed land.

I had planned to look over the smaller settlements and native tribes of the land that day instead of focusing on the larger cities and towns that had firm footholds on the continent. The smaller ones did not have such solid futures. While they were in some ways more self sustaining than the larger cities, they were also far more achingly vulnerable to sickness, truly despicable bandits and the deep, dark cold of winter.

It hurt to see such death at the time but it had been far too long even then to call myself a stranger to it. Still, I had wanted to help prevent such tragedies and had been looking for a good heart to help control what I could not, mainly the bitter cold that took so many lives. As such, I had recently started to seek a being that could hear me, one who would be willing to guard the winter—to bring light and joy and laughter to the months when enormous masses of clouds often obscured my view. The idea had been a difficult one to work out, as tying any soul magically into such basic, raw forces required a great deal of arithmetic tied with the painstaking development of new spells.

On that day, because I enjoy watching children playing the most, I decided to focus in on one whom I had watched before. I had seen how he loved to be outside and playing. He teased and laughed with the other children of the settlement, often lifting souls that could have easily been neglected and depressed otherwise. He would chase away their sadness and bring a smile to the children's faces, often at his own expense.

As I think on it now, the trait that drew me back to him—made me remember him—was how he reminded me of my own lost Guardian, Nightlight. I cannot recall much of the boy who used to watch over my dreams, but I did remember that he would always make me laugh and his mere presence would chase away fear.

I smiled to find the boy I had been searching for on a frozen lake with the younger girl that I was certain was his sister. I had seen them a few times there and they often had great fun gliding on little shoes made of metal. The moment my telescope found them, though, I realized that their careful movements did not suggest such a carefree activity. It took me only a moment to recognize the danger their playing had put them in. I focused the telescope on the lake below them only to have my fears confirmed. Large, threatening cracks spread like a web below their feet.

Despite not having the means to pull them to safety directly, I readied and threw a spell to try and harden the ice none the less. It was the best I could do and I worked my own desperation into the spell to lend it strength.

The boy moved carefully but surely, practically radiating his belief that the situation would work out as he tried to calm the girl. His faith bolstered my magic and the spell managed to reach the lake, hardening and thickening what it could, although it could only strengthen a portion of the ice in the magic's weakened state. Still, I remember thinking that that could be enough. If the children reached that area, they would live, but I had been worried as I could see that the girl had frozen in fear, unable to move or help the magic work.

As I'd observed him do before, the boy had calmed the girl by bringing a smile to her face as I had readied the same spell again, flinging it with all my might as he'd jokingly encouraged her to move by imitating him, which had caused her to focus on his smooth confidence and ignore the growing cracks beneath her feet. In those horrible, horrible seconds, he had moved faster than my magic, grasping her with his staff-hook and throwing her with all of his might to safety. Then I could only watch as his efforts pushed him back into harm's way in her place.

He fell through the ice just as my magic reached them.

The girl would be safe, but the boy…

My magic, which had hardened the ice yet again underneath the girl, hastened her brother's death. Even if he had been able to keep himself afloat after the shock of being submerged in the cold water (and I could not recall seeing him swim as other children had and thus didn't know if he even could), my magic had hastened the already deathly quick refreezing of the lake, cutting off his only escape.

I remember watching him drown that day, unable to do anything while the girl cried for her brother and the entire village, drawn by her screams, mourned the loss of such a bright light of a child.

It was then, as I had witnessed the entire town focusing on the memory of that amazing, selfless boy, that I had realized I could save him…but at a cost.

Recovering his life would change him. My magical array, my preparations for the winter spirit who could help to protect the children…I'd realized that I could use it. I'd known that it would take time for the spell to complete itself, several of Earth's hours, but it would save this noble, innocent soul; the spirit that had not yet fully moved on from the lake and sister he had given his life to protect.

I'd quickly begun the spells, using that lingering thread of his sister's desperate belief that her big brother had to be alive and his lingering will to ensure her safety. After several minutes though, it had come to me as to how cruel I was being in my slightly selfish wish to save him.

As I had finished the final array, I'd looked back through the telescope at the still crying girl. That was when I realized how cruel the changes I had initiated would be for him. It would take time for the children to know of him, and I could not change that.

I cannot make any person believe or disbelieve, I can only plant the seeds of that belief. As he had died, not merely changed with the force of will and belief as my other Guardians and many of the spirits of Earth had, he would be forced to see his family, friends and the villagers he had known, and he would not be able to interact with them. He would be invisible. I had realized that even if they somehow managed to see him out of the corner of their eyes, they would think him a ghost and they would reject him. I remember wondering with a nauseous feeling in my stomach as to what kind of damage that would do to his soul.

No sooner had I thought this than I had begun a new array, choosing to take what seemed to me to be the better of two harsh choices. I had known that between the two spells, the energy requirement would drain me for a great deal of time, but I had resolved that I would do what I could to lessen the pain the boy would go through in his unusual transition.

That new, additional spell would reach him just after his change. It would take his memories and only allow him to remember his name. That would be all I could communicate with the remaining power that I commanded.

I remember completing and sending the spell on its way, and then watching in nervous anticipation for hours afterwards as I fought the fatigue that had plagued me in the wake of the spell's release. I had begun to worry that I would pass out of view of the lake before I could get an answer when, to my great relief, I received conformation that my magic had worked. It had indeed changed him as I had feared, but I had succeeded.

At first I'd thought all would be well; he had seemed so happy and carefree just after his awakening as he danced across the lake with his newly found powers and then made instant friends with the wind. Then he'd found the village, and as drained as I had been, I could only watch as he'd realized just how alone he was.

It took me longer than I would care to admit to recover, but as I waited for the strength to send more than my normal moonbeams, I had watched.

I watched him wander for days in a panic that had accidentally caused a cold snap that covered almost half the continent. I watched him become angry and call his first blizzard (luckily that had been over the South Pole as the moonbeams had encouraged the North Wind to take him there, so while it had spooked some penguins and seals, no one had died).

I watched his first few disastrous attempts at communicating with spirits (it was not the boys fault that he ran into that Groundhog, and the Coyote…well, not many beings managed to tolerate that trickster).

I watched him slowly but surely, adjust.

Although I could not act, I never abandoned him and always watched over him.

When I finally had the power again, I tried to communicate as best I could, but he had never known me before he died, nor had he learned how to listen, and as a truly free spirit he never stayed in place long enough for my magic to reach him and give him the sense of how he could do so. The few times I managed to get through to him, my message would be so weak that he could not hear it fully. I kept trying, though, wracking my brain for a way to accomplish this task when I could. I tried different arrays, sent my moonbeams and even tried to persuade the Gaurdians to communicate with him.

A vague sense of "North" that had managed to reach the boy caused him to run across Nicholas's workshop, but the Yetis misunderstood his appearance and the boy didn't know enough with his limited experience to explain properly and he had been unable to get to North in time to mend the situation. I watched with a broken heart as yet again he was shut out, ostracized by his fellow spirits. The only comfort I could take from the frustrating situation had been that, with some translations and later communications with North, I learned the Boy's name.

Jack. Jack Frost. How perfectly fitting.

Unfortunately my main communication at that time was still by picture and as North had not found the crystal at that point, he could not understand my urgings to seek the boy out.

I had eventually managed to convince Aster to speak with Jack if he saw him on his rounds. The pooka had not been happy, but he'd agreed. Unfortunately, just him speaking to the winter spirit had excited Jack to an extent that it had caused that blasted blizzard on Easter Sunday. After that, there was nothing more to be said.

Nothing else I tried worked either. None of the arrays I developed succeeded, and eventually I came to the conclusion that he simply did not have the ability to communicate with me. He had long-since lost the sense of belief that boosted my magic and let me converse despite barriers. In addition, Jack tended to be impatient, quick and flighty, especially with the wind on his side.

He never lost his core though. Even now I can barely comprehend how he could see that silver lining in the darkest of clouds; a silver lining that caused him to seek out and create fun. Even if my kindness had, in a sense, been a curse, Jack managed to rise above it and do everything that I had dreamed a winter spirit would do and more. Between the seemingly endless snowball fights and the sudden spike in the number of snowmen, I could find no fault with his work. He'd even managed to whip up snow days and sled rides that made my own youthful sliding down moon cliffs look tame.

I had somehow, purely by chance, managed to find the perfect soul to shepherd the cold.

Because of Jack Frost, winter was no longer a season to fear.

xXx

Thankfully, with his induction into the Guardians, Jack unknowingly gained access to one of their greatest treasures: The crystal.

It had been something that I'd managed to lead Nicholas St. North to several years prior, one of the relics of the Moon Clipper that had crashed to Earth. To put it simply, it amplified my powers. Even weak spells could be returned to nearly full strength when aimed at and focused through the blue gem.

Once Jack accepted his role as a Guardian, North informed him of how I could speak almost on normal time through the crystal. Upon gaining that knowledge, one of his first acts as a Guardian was to trick every single yeti and elf out of the globe room and freeze the doors and windows shut (no easy feat, which made his success all the more impressive).

I'd known that something like this would come, and watched with great anticipation as the boy tentatively walked towards the intricate doors on the floor that concealed the crystal. I knew what he wanted, and it was with a mix of trepidation and joy that I sent down the key spell to raise the crystal.

Cautiously optimistic, I then turned from my telescope and used my magic on a mirror, converting it into a window of sorts that allowed me see and hear through the crystal (a recent, albeit horribly draining spell I had developed that allowed me to actually speak through the relic as well).

At first Jack just stood there, facing the large gem silently, probably wondering where to start. It was the first time I had been able to see his face up close and I could not help but be relieved that at least physically he looked well.

"Why didn't you ever answer me?" Jack finally asked tentatively, his face full of pain and confusion and eyes demanding an answer even though his tone had been quiet.

I watched him for just a moment, never removing my eyes from his framed face. Finally I answered.

"I tried, Jack," I replied. "I promise, I did, but it takes a long time for my words to reach the Earth."

"Three hundred years is more than 'a long time'," he bit out, his voice even lower than before. "You could have found a way."

At first I wanted to protest, but seeing the expression on his face stopped me. It had always been a fear of mine that I hadn't tried hard enough; that I had spent too much time continuing to observe the Earth and not caring for someone who I had taken responsibility for. I had suspected that there were ways; some that would have drained me for months and some that would rely on other spirits no doubt, and I had tried to find or create those methods, but had I tried hard enough?

At that point, I could only sigh. How could I phrase such thoughts to a lost child with 300 Earth years of loneliness as his past? I could have figured something out other than sending moonbeams and an occasional intersession by one of my Gaurdians.

So instead of protesting and defending myself, I thought. Had there been a subconscious reason that stopped me from trying harder? "I think…" I finally said slowly, amazed that Jack hadn't moved an inch, "I think that I was afraid."

The boy's eyes widened to unbelieving saucers. "You're afraid?"

I gave a sardonic chuckle. "Everyone has a fear, Jack, even if they don't know it. Even Pitchner did in the end."

He paused, thinking that over. After a few seconds he glanced back at the crystal. "Why?"

"Why does everyone have a fear?"

Jack shook his head. "No, why were you afraid?"

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. "I think it is because I never got the chance to ask if you would be willing take this role. How could I have? If I'd reached out to you at the time… an intelligent child such as yourself would have had far too many questions that I could not explain in the time I had when you were already dying. After you changed, I did not know how to express the heart of why I did what I did to you when you had not regained your memories. Not with my limited methods. Not only would you not have understood my reasons, but…I think I did not want to face the possibility that I may have made the wrong decision."

"Wrong decision?" he asked, wary and defensive.

It took me a moment to realize why my words had hurt him. I hurried to reassure the boy and explain myself without letting him think that I regretted choosing him to be the Herald of Winter. "Reviving you after your death without your permission," I clarified.

"But… you saved my life," Jack returned, his voice incredulous and even more confused than before.

"At what cost?" I asked quietly, looking away. "Your family, your life, everyone you ever knew… I took you away from them. Now they are gone, and it may be many, many centuries before you see them again."

He didn't answer for several seconds and I couldn't face him in those moments that seemed to stretch into an eternity, fearing his censure.

"But I will see them." I heard the words, and it would be amiss for me to say that they did not surprise me. I blinked away my shock, and my eyes found him once more in hope.

"Pardon?"

Jack smiled that ever present, luminously bright smile of his; the one that could outshine most of my moonbeams. "You may have changed me, but you can't change my soul. Even you said it. It might take a long time but I'll see them again eventually, right?"

He spoke the words with a confidence only a child can really achieve, and with them, he'd dispelled a weight that had been resting and increasing on my shoulders for more than three Earth centuries. "No, Jack, I could not change your soul. I would not do so even if I could."

"And you never really abandoned me, did you?" That smile quirked a little making his eyes shine and imbuing his features with his bright nature.

This one I could answer without hesitation. "No. I always watched over you."

Impossibly, his smile brightened further. "Thanks. Even if I couldn't hear you, I think, in my heart, I knew. I think that's why I never stopped talking to you."

I smiled right back at him, forgetting that he could not actually see me. "And for that, Jack, I thank you."

He shrugged and tossed his staff onto his shoulder. "You're welcome. See ya 'round. I better go let the yetis back in before they get really mad."

And with that, he was off to play and protect where I couldn't; a child of the winter who forgave the Man in the Moon.

xXx

Author's Note: AARG! This has been bouncing around in my head for weeks, but from the tenses to the thought process this story has DRIVEN ME NUTS! Thing is I felt I had to write the first section in past perfect tense (most of the time) as he was telling an actual story, and I really tried to get a sophisticated but gentle tone down. Hope I succeeded.

I'm still not a hundred percent happy with how it turned out, but I'll live. Any good things that HAVE come out of this can be attributed to KuroiAtropos who went through this and helped me write a BUNCH of it (thank you so much hon!). You should all go and check out her Rise of the Guardian's crossover with Star Trek (hey, Chris Pine meets Christ Pine, what's not to love?).

Thanks for reading. I love and appreciate comments of all kinds: the harsher the criticism, the better. Thanks!


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